


pork and beans

by tackypanda



Series: wasted beauty [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Body Image, F/M, Fluff, Insecurity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:14:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6865687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tackypanda/pseuds/tackypanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Antiquated standards for attractiveness have no place in the Wasteland. Hard to forget when you remember them as if it really were yesterday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pork and beans

**Author's Note:**

> i'm too fond of writing 'sole survivor is insecure about how they look bc the pre-war world sucked and their LI is super sweet about it' so it looks like this is becoming a niche series WOOPS. be the change you wish to see in the world am i right.

Most people didn’t have to worry about striking down their significant other with a door. And no, not in the typical way where someone accidentally opens a door in someone else’s face. More like ripping it right off its rusted old hinges in anger and throwing it in the direction where someone else happened to be standing. 

Marge was not most people, of course. Her combined impressive height, body fat, and strong muscles enabled her to do crazy shit like this without power armor. Incidences like this - _MacCready_  of all people being the almost-victim - made her wonder if the benefits of allowing herself to be more extreme outweighed the risks. 

“Hey,” he called to her gently once they had settled in at their camp for the night, far away from any buildings. He sat next to her in front of the fire. Marge just hummed in reply, absentmindedly stirring the pot of pork and beans. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.” Marge cringed at her own voice; it had always been nasally, sharp, and so heavily Bostonian, but it really undercut her seriousness.

“C’mon, it was kinda funny.” He moved to sling his arm around her broad shoulders, but she shied away.

“Funny at the time or funny now that we can look back on it and laugh?” She sighed, reaching back to tug on her ponytail. “It’s not– it ain’t like it’s you that’s the problem. Well kinda. Let’s just not revisit it, okay?”

He let out a sound that was halfway between a scoff and a laugh. “Marge, you got so pissed about that raider ambush that you ripped out a _huge_  door,  and scared away half of them. And neither of us even got a scratch taking them out.”

“But throwin’ the door aside like that could’ve done so much worse. I damn well know my feats of strength are impressive - didn’t get into the Brotherhood for my beliefs, after all - but that shit’s only good if the raiders get all the scaring and hurting. Not the scrawny little asshole I’m trying to protect.”

“This scrawny little _guy_  effortlessly jumped clear before the door even got near him.” She expected him to protest further, but he just scooted closer to her. “I’m fine, beautiful, I swear.”

She snorted. “Oh, so grunting and wailing my way through that whole thing like a mutant hound didn’t detract from my beauty?” She scoffed as he sighed. “Sorry. Just times like these where I’m reminded that I’m… well, you know.” His skeptical gaze and raised brow portrayed that he didn’t. “You _have_  to have noticed I’m almost as tall as most Super Mutants. Built like ‘em, kinda. Hell, Strong n’ me are almost equal height.”

“So? I’m lucky to have someone who could take one of them on in a _fist fight_  watching my back.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at the image, morphing into that of her and Strong on either side of a fighting ring pumping themselves up and shadowboxing. “I guess I could, if I tried.”

“I know you could.”

It was times like these where she almost missed the MacCready that grew flustered over her sorry attempts at flirting an didn’t know how to reply except admit that being lonely was terrible. Now he was openly endearing, slinging his arm around her waist while they ambled down the road, kissing her cheek mid-meal, calling her ‘beautiful’ like it was nothing. How was she supposed to convey that, well, it bothered her? For such stupid reasons?

“Hey, uh, can I ask ya somethin’, Mac? And can you be 100% honest?”

All the color promptly drained from his face; expecting the worst, as usual. _Nice goin’, Margie._  “What’s the matter?”

“Forget, for a moment, that I helped with your son and the Gunners and that’s why you love me and all that. I mean– what do you see, when you look at me?” She cringed, trying to come up with a better way to pose the question. “I– if you saw me out there, before ever meeting in The Third Rail, would–”

“Marge.” He took off his cap, sighing and seemingly preparing to launch into some sweet string of reassurances - had the smell of their dinner starting to burn not interrupted him.

“Sorry, sorry!” She hurriedly removed the pot from the fire, her gloves barely protecting her from getting scorched by the handles. “Dammit. That’s what I get when I– ugh. My fault, sorry.”

“Forget about the beans, they taste the same whether they’re burnt or not.” He tugged her gloves off and took her hands in his, squeezing them tightly. “What’s gotten into you? How long have you felt this way?”

She stared at their hands, biting her lip - the juxtaposition between his slender, calloused fingers and her meaty ones was glaring. “I dunno. I think everyone got used to hating themselves before the war. Didn’t matter how you looked, you were too little or too much of something. Everyone practically killed themselves over self-improvement, but it was the norm. Hell, things are _better_  now in that area. It’s not much compared to _everything_ else goin’ on now, but…” She trailed off, shrugging. 

“Sounds terrible.” He frowned, though she suspected it was because she was so quick to shift the subject away from herself.

She chuckled, releasing one of her hands to stroke his cheek. “They would’ve even tried to change you.”

“Would _you_  change anything about me?”

“Of course not, ya dingus! You’re you, and I love–” The knowing smirk on his face shut her up immediately. “ _Oh_.”

“Exactly.” He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, tucking his head under her chin. “I call you beautiful ‘cuz I mean it, Marge. I’m no good at empty flirts, you know that.”

“I know.” She pressed her mouth to his hair. “I just– I thought after today, you might start considering me a health hazard.”

“Only in the good way.” She felt him smile against her neck, pressing the lightest of kisses to her skin. All she could do in reply was snort.

“Oh _no_ , you didn’t find that whole display attractive, did ya?” His body shaking with muffled laughter was all the answer she needed. “You read too many comic books. Just don’t put yourself in danger to watch me rip furniture apart, ok? Promise me? You’re a sniper, stay _away_.”

“That works, I’ve still got my scope.”

She squeezed his side. “You’re crazy.”

He was the one to snort this time. “Crazy for you, _beautiful_.”

She hide her whole face in his hair, suppressing the urge to laugh or scream or make _any_  sound with her mouth to help these strong feelings to come out. She barely managed to free herself from his vice grip, kissing his forehead before playfully punching his arm. “You’re clearly hungry, just shove some pork and beans in your mouth before your deliriousness makes you say anything else.”

He was all smiles as he ladled them two bowls, kissing her cheek before diving in, just like normal.


End file.
